


this frightened part of me (that's fated to pretend)

by ShameGame



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Alternate Universe, Like BOTW but everything's shifted three feet to the left, M/M, Rebellion, Selectively Mute Link, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 18:16:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12823284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShameGame/pseuds/ShameGame
Summary: Four years ago, Link picked up a sword and settled down with the sole intention of protecting the people that chose to tolerate him as a kid. He warded off the monsters that Ganon sent at night, and he did his job well enough... Up until last spring.Now the political ball is suddenly rolling and Link doesn't know whether or not he wants to catch up to it--the Princess is determined to bring him along, but his village-boy nature is hellbent on keeping his world comfortably small. Either way he's miles out of his depth, and the shore only seems to be getting further out of reach.Enter: Prince Sidon, a well-versed diplomat and second-in-line to the Zora throne....Maybe he can teach Link how to keep his head above water.Either that, or they'll both drown.





	this frightened part of me (that's fated to pretend)

 

By day nine, Link has enough experience to know exactly how many swings it takes to kill a bokoblin or a lizalfos.

The aftermath of the third ambush is worse than the ones before; it’s darker out, the vanguard’s exhausted, and his right eye is throbbing as he shuffles through the pockets of another dead enemy soldier--he’d gotten hit square in the face with the butt of a spear during the initial attack. A few of the soldiers are nursing broken limbs. One of Her Grace’s advisors is talking a mile an hour while Her Grace keeps her head bent, letting the healer dab at the thin scratch on her face with a rag soaked in antiseptic.

Judging by the sporadic glances the advisor keeps sending Link’s way, it’s nothing good. The slow-burning stares the rest of the vanguard have been sending his way only make that impression sink deeper in his chest and throat. Usually he wouldn’t care, but just this once it hurts.

There’s a pile of scavenged supplies sitting a few yards from the hastily-made campfire; Link quietly places his loot at its base. And while he’s in a lull between chores, he draws up his detailed mental map of Hyrule, and crosses off another back road, marking it as unsafe for the vanguard. He’ll force the group to cut across the uncharted strip of woods between this path and a better one as soon as they’re ready to move, which’ll likely be in a couple of hours.

The only person he can properly communicate this plan to is Her Grace, and she’s busy. Link thinks about walking over anyways, grabbing her attention because his plans are one of the driving forces of her campaign, but then he thinks a little harder about it. He thinks about how little people will want to hear anything he has to say immediately after Ganon had gotten the jump on the vanguard _again_.

He’s out of his depth. He’s not good with strangers. He’s embarrassingly homesick.

So he does what he usually does when he doesn’t want to think or feel.

He holds up his bow--his way of saying, ‘I’m going hunting,’--and quickly makes his way off the path, into the underbrush. He hears Her Grace calling after him for a split second, but he’s too quick on his feet, and her voice is quickly swallowed up by the woods.

Then he’s all alone, with just a few glimpses of the moon, some early-autumn wind, and a sheath full of arrows that he’s itching to use. It’s borderline nostalgic.

The leaves are rustling enough that he doesn’t have to bother with being quiet; he just has to focus on the movements around him and single out the ones with edible sources. The more cheaply-whittled arrows he owns are used to stick a rabbit or two… The better arrows will be used on the road ahead. Link misses a few of his shots, but he blames that on the sudden lack of depth perception.

Speaking of his black eye, it’s still blanketing the right side of his face with a dull ache--one that he can’t help but resent and respect at the same time. It’s a horrible reminder that he doesn’t know what he’s doing. That he doesn’t know why Her Grace decided to trust _him_. Two weeks ago he was fending off attackers from his small village at the edge of Central Hyrule, but now? He’s spending his days with a continuously-twisting knot in his stomach as he tries to safely lead the vanguard around the entirety of Hyrule. He doesn’t know if he even has a last name, but he’s supposed to know the best spot to hide an army of several thousands.

He lets loose another shot, putting a bit more aggression into the action than necessary. The squirrel at the business end of his arrow falls from its tree branch, dead long before it hits the ground. Link treks over and piles it into his game bag. He notches another arrow but leaves the bowstring undrawn as he finds a new spot.

When he was a kid, he was infamous for terrorizing his village. As a preteen without parents, without a proper _house_ , he ended up stealing food from merchants, hunting-slash-scavenging by the village’s outskirts, and butting his way into villagers’ affairs due to the simple lack of other things to do. On the rare occasions where he got caught, the village elders--who pitied him more than anything, really--would always tell him to be careful where he stuck his nose. Considering the consequences were just a mere slap on the wrist, Link’s efforts to improve when he got older were dramatic. But they still weren’t enough.

Because his past job as a Hyrule-wide escort--his first attempt at setting himself straight--is the main reason he’s stuck in his current mess.

He learned to do that job a little too well, and earned himself a reputation that crept its way up to Princess Zelda. And because she needed someone with the roads and backroads of Hyrule burned five layers deep in their brain, because she needed someone with a good record in serving as a defender, he’s here now.

...All alone in the woods.

...Doing his best to not waste time feeling sorry for himself.

Hmm.

For the first time tonight, Link realizes how lonely he’s feeling. It’s like being twelve again, and he doesn’t appreciate it at all. Instead of mulling it over, he slides his current arrow back into his sheath, takes out a nicer arrow, and tells himself that this time, he’s going to shoot a deer.

Tomorrow will be better.

But for now, he needs to put the rest of today to good use.

So he hunts.

 

* * *

 

A few days pass. Time goes by in an arbitrary mix of riding, hunting, sleeping, and ignoring the suspicious stares of the vanguard as Link repeatedly tweaks their path, finding telltale signs of monsters and then dutifully swerving elsewhere. Link doesn’t want the others to let on, but he’s desperate to do his job right. He doesn’t like hearing soldiers calling him a “run-down mercenary only there for the pay” behind his back. He misses his battered, too-heavy sword, his threadbare clothes, his uncomfortable straw bed that poked him in the spine a little too hard if he wasn’t curled up in a ball when he slept--but he’s here for something so much bigger, and they don’t seem to understand. He doesn’t even have the words to explain himself. So he works just as hard as before, and at night when he’s huddled alone under a blanket by the fireside, right before sleeping, he prays to the Goddess for some more luck.  

She listens, apparently.

The critical stares slow in momentum once it’s been half a week since the last ambush; Link has them riding on a barely-treaded road that somewhat zigzags towards their destination… But it’s safer.

Every couple of hours he rides far, far ahead and scales a tree, using it as a vantage point as he picks the horizon for a sign that they should change paths. And every time he comes down, he doesn’t have a good reason. The mountains are a straight shot ahead. Supplies are still well-stocked. Everyone is in good health.

There’s nothing left to make him uneasy, but logic and Link don’t always mesh well, so he worries anyways. The last time he let his guard down there was retribution, meaning he doesn’t even consider relaxing this time around--but he still hopes.

He stays by the tree he scaled each and every time and waits patiently for the vanguard to catch up. And when they come into view, weary-eyed but optimistic, he finds himself chanting in his head,

_Let the peace last, please, Goddess, let the peace last._

* * *

 

 

Day seventeen. They’re spending most of it riding by the dirt path in the open which thankfully, _still_ doesn’t seem to be compromised. Link’s not sure what would happen to him if it was.

They have about a day and a half’s ride until they reach their first destination, and morale is rising, slowly but surely. The soldiers several yards behind him are telling stories their grandparents shared with them about the domain. Her Grace is skirting between the healer, the guards, her advisors, and at the forefront: him.

Link’s pointedly aware that as a diplomat-to-be, the princess loves to converse to pass the time and build relations. She wouldn’t be able to go on this journey if she didn’t. And since she knows her healer, her guards, and her advisors fairly well, the main target of her attention is the quiet outsider.

“So,” she says in the late-afternoon, and even when her tone is conversational, it sounds like her words are premeditated. “When did you self-appoint yourself as the protector of your village?”

He counts back a few years in his head, then he frees his right hand from the reins of his horse. He angles it so Her Grace can see it better, starting with a thumbs-up before rotating his palm, holding up his pointer, middle, and pinky fingers while pinching together his thumb and ring finger.

 _Seventeen_.

Her Grace nods thoughtfully.

“That must have been difficult--especially when you were self-trained. There are have been rumors for years that Ganon has overrun that region with his monsters.”

She’s just stating what they both already know, but Link hums his confirmation regardless.

 _They managed to tear down a few houses before I realized things weren’t going to get better_ , he adds. _Picking up a sword was the least I could do_.

“And you did it well,” she says with a soft smile. “The people in your village seem to trust you quite a bit.”

Something in him winces. He hates it when she reminds him of the people he left behind, even when she means well--it always forces an ugly wave of paranoia to wash over him at the dumbest of times, and he finds himself signing before he can think over the implications of his question.

_You’re sure the guards you left there will be able to hold off Ganon’s soldiers?_

His brain suddenly catches up with the rest of him. He hastily puts both hands back on the reins to keep himself from saying anything else rude. Her Grace doesn’t seem to read into the question too deeply. She trains her eyes ahead, twisting her lip thoughtfully.

“I hand-picked several of my best soldiers to be stationed there,” she answers. “If something goes wrong, I trust that they will be able to handle it well.”

They ride for a few seconds in silence. Link struggles to think of something to say.

Then belatedly, he pries his hand away from the reins again. _Thank you_.

“No,” Her Grace says, turning her head back towards him to offer a meaningful look. “Thank _you_. We’re lucky to have you with us.”

More silence.

It occurs to Link that this is probably Her Grace’s form of an apology for what happened a little over a week ago--even if she wasn’t directly involved in it. He doesn’t know if he should acknowledge it or not.

Her Grace takes the decision out of his hands with a sheepish, not-so-regal expression. “I should discuss plans for tonight with the advisors before it gets dark now, shouldn’t I.”

Slightly relieved, Link gives the politest shrug he can manage. _Probably_.

“We’ll talk more later,” she says, then tugs her reins, slowing her horse down to wait for her advisors catch up. Link pulls ahead, feeling a few sizes too small for his skin for some reason. Probably because he can’t tell if he’s being manipulated, or if Her Grace genuinely wants his friendship. He chews on the inside of his cheek. Glances back at her. Thinks a little harder.

 _It’s a good thing_ , he tells himself finally. _For the sake of Hyrule, we’ll assume her intentions were good_.

Shaking off his unwanted nerves, he taps his heels to his horse’s flank and canters a little further ahead on the path. He’ll scout ahead and find a good campsite for Her Grace.

...He thinks she’d like that.

 

* * *

 

Day eighteen. The issue with the mountains’ paths is that they’re difficult to switch up. Starting down one is the same as committing to it for the entire ride; the ground’s too steep for horses to go off-road, and to attempt to move to another trail is an effort that can waste the entire day.

Link has to factor this into his decision. He traces each of the pathways he’d ridden as a teen in his head, and thinks about how they interconnect--if they connect at all. Then he considers the benefits of the backroads versus the main roads.

He points at the right prong of the fork in the road.

 _That way_ , he tells Her Grace. _It’s a back road though, so once we’re on it, our route pretty much set in stone. No impromptu changes._

She seems to understand the weight of that statement.

“We are headed to the right,” she calls over her shoulder to the vanguard. “Stay cautious the entire time, please.”

Metal softly clangs as people reposition their weapons and shields to more convenient places. Link double-checks to make sure his newly-forged sword is easily accessible, strapped right across his back.

“Should we start moving?” Her Grace asks. Link nods, and quickly takes the lead, directing Her Grace to stay a safe distance behind.

The vanguard rides in tense silence for the next couple of hours.

The air is starting to get a harsh bite to it now that they’re in the mountains and the weather’s cooling; it’s uncomfortable whenever Link has to take a deep, long breath, but even more uncomfortable _not_ to. He focuses on remapping the area in his head, getting the occasional flash of deja vu when they trace an interesting bend in the road, or an unconventional cluster of trees shows up. He’s bigger now. Less afraid than he was when he was inexperienced with traveling.

But the path still makes him weary.

Three-fourths of the way up, right after they’d passed one of the domain’s stone landmarks, the atmosphere seems to shift. An invisible force seems to grab him by the throat, and it smells thick and dangerous like ozone. All the hairs on the back Link’s neck raise.

Something _thunks_ into the wood of the tree to his left. Link doesn’t hesitate. He looks to the right--to where it came from. And sure enough, at the top of the hill overlooking their path, there’s a lizalfos wearing armor.

Link moves to say something--though he doesn’t know what, considering only one person in the vanguard can understand him and she’s looking elsewhere--but he’s knocked off his center of balance, right off his horse and into the dirt. His temple throbs. There’s a rock a few inches away from his head. He scrambles up and draws his sword and shield all in one fluid motion, giving up on the possibility of remounting the second he realizes his horse has run off.

The lizalfos has company now, just a few monsters less than soldiers in the vanguard. Some are hurrying to draw arrows while a couple others race down their hill; Link’s group is still an agonizing distance from where Link fell, trying to organize into the strongest formation it can manage, but it’s compromising its speed. Link sprints towards them, already noting a few openings in their group that can be taken advantage of.

He reaches them right as the first bokoblin does as well. It reels back its club and Link slams it to the ground, sticking it with his sword before it can try to get back up.

“Go!” he tries shouting, except because he’s him, it sounds more like, “Gah!”

The vanguard gets the message well enough.

Her Grace and her horse start pulling forward, and Link does his best to jog alongside her, waiting impatiently as some of the vanguard’s soldiers also try to move ahead to flank her. Something to the right snaps, and it’s a sound Link knows a little too well.

He dives forward with his shield a split second before the arrow is sent to strike Her Grace’s horse. It clangs off the metal surface anti-climatically. But then every muscle in Link’s body is suddenly being torn at by sharp, cold-yet-hot metal teeth, and it half-occurs to him that he’s an idiot for not finding a wooden shield to use instead. He forces himself to stay upright regardless.

The shocks pass after a few more seconds and he feels weak-limbed, but Her Grace is headed fast for a tunnel at the far end of this stretch of road and that’s all that matters at this point. He crouches behind a nearby rock and finds the time to fire off a few arrows. One of the soldiers far to his right gives an angry shout, and a bomb arrow goes off among Ganon’s troops.

No one says anything to instigate it this time, but the rest of the vanguard uses the opening to hurry to the tunnel as well. Link resigns himself to running. Instead, someone riding by grabs him by the waist and slumps him onto the back of their horse without a proper warning. The awkward position ends up stabbing at his ribs every time the horse gallops, but he doesn’t protest. Instead, he opts to roll off the moment he knows they’re in the tunnel. The dirt doesn’t cushion his fall in the slightest. It doesn’t matter. He’s beyond caring.

Link dusts himself off. Takes a deep, steadying breath. Jogs his way over to the vanguard, knowing perfectly well that if the situation wasn’t so time-constricted, he’d be doing a death march instead.

The advisor from last week goes for his throat first.

Marud gets unapologetically close to his face the second Link is near enough, hissing about his terrible lack of foresight, about his inability to properly account for anyone beside himself, about how his recklessness is going to be the downfall of the princess’s campaign. Link ignores him.

He paces a little closer to Her Grace and tries to survey the damage, which mainly seems to be psychological. She looks dazed, but still-present… Just not enough to pull her attack-dog off of him.

He jogs to peer out of the opposite mouth of the tunnel next.

Outside, there’s a gauntlet of Ganon’s monsters. Makeshift fences and lookout posts, all well-stocked with lizalfos and bokoblins holding more shock arrows. Link doesn’t have the energy to frown. He heads back further into the tunnel, back among the vanguard’s troops, who all seem to be fuming at him.

He checks how many arrows he has left. Tests the current state of his bow. Wordlessly grabs one of the soldier’s wooden shields from her hands, handing the woman his old one instead. Marud is still raving at him from behind. He peels off his bright-blue tunic.

“Don’t expect to get out of trouble just by giving us a stripshow,” one of the guards jeers, and it’s all cold, uncaring malice. A few of the other soldiers give harsh laughs, too.

Link feels his ears burn red, but he doesn’t let his expression change.

He bundles the shirt in his hands, giving the soldier an unwavering stare. Then he paces over and shoves the shirt as hard as he can into the man’s chest.

 _I’ll deal with this_ , he signs despite knowing no one will understand. His gestures are angry to the point of stiffness. He turns on his heel, holsters his bow and arrows, and hustles to the mouth of the cave again.

He hears the soldier growl, “What’d he say?” before he slips outside silently, beelining to climb the nearest tree.

Uninhibited by the jarring color of the collar the princess had given him as a gift, the first lizalfos doesn’t have time to shriek in surprise before there’s an arrow right between its shoulder blades. Link deals with all the other troops in a similar, precise manner. It takes fifteen minutes total.

He forces the vanguard back on the road the moment he manages to convince Her Grace to get back on her horse.

They ride in tense silence for the next hour.

 

* * *

 

The Zora Domain proves itself to be as big and imposing in person as it was in Link’s memory.

He had never crossed the bridge before, always dropping off clients at the foot of it before leaving, but today is different. He guides Her Grace’s horse onto its smooth surface and pushes the vanguard forward. Her Grace doesn’t say anything; she just silently kneads the material of Link’s tunic as she stares forward. Link doesn’t comment on this either. If she needs a few more moments to compose herself, he’ll gladly give it to her.

The guards at the Domain’s entryway have caught sight of them now. Two quickly pace towards the group, while a third holds back, likely relaying events to the rest of their troops. The ones approaching are broad-shouldered, smooth-scaled, and tall. Really tall. Tall enough that Link knows he wouldn’t be able to face them in a fight, considering his current state.

Her Grace shifts against his back, sitting up straighter as the Zoras stop a few feet in front of her horse.

“I apologize for the lack of forewarning,” she says, voice firm and confident and fake. “I was hoping to send some sort of message, but my methods of communication are all but unusable at the moment.”

“Please state your name and reason for visiting,” one of the guards flatly responds, practically ignoring Her Grace’s words.

Her Grace shifts again, letting go of Link’s waist so she can place her hands in her lap. He thinks it might be her way of hiding her irritation.

“Princess Zelda. Granddaughter of Hyrule’s last true ruler,” Her Grace answers. “My vanguard and I request the audience of King Dorephan for a…” She trails off, trying to find the right word. “A business proposal,” she finally settles on.

The guards share an uncertain look.

“We can leave our weapons in the armory as a sign of good faith, if you wish,” Her Grace adds.

Another shared look.

The one that looks less empathetic--the grey-green one--steps forward with a firm frown on his face. “Without arranging for a meeting beforehand, the king will not have time to meet with you… You can restock supplies and rent beds for the night, but--”

“--Hold that thought!” someone calls from far behind the Zora guards. “Please, Xaff, hold that thought! Let me meet these travellers first!” The source of the voice hurries to get closer. Link keeps his mouth in a firm, straight line, unsure what to think.

The light grey guard looks mildly scandalized as she turns to look behind her, watching the same Zora Link’s been watching as he paces towards the group. “Prince--” she starts before the newcomer--who’s even taller than she is--puts a consoling hand on her shoulder.

“My apologies, Zanna,” he says. “I heard there were Hylians at our bridge, and naturally I had to come see them for myself.”

Zanna’s features twist in confusion. “I thought you were occupied with that board meeting in the throne room--?”

The Prince brushes past her and Xaff. Link doesn’t know much about social cues in regards to royalty, but he scrambles to help Her Grace off her horse, dismounting and lending her a hand until she’s on her own two feet. Then he stands back, holding the reins as Her Grace steps forward to properly meet the Prince.

“It’s been decades since I’ve last seen any Hylians,” the Prince chimes, flashing two rows of jagged teeth. “Ganon has been devastatingly effective at forcing us to cut ties with the other regions, so seeing you here is quite encouraging.”

Then he extends a large, royal-red hand.

“My name is Prince Sidon,” he says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Her Grace offers her own smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too.”

She carefully holds out her gloved hand, which is promptly swallowed up by the handshake that follows. “My name is Princess Zelda,” she continues. “I’m here with my vanguard, seeking the audience of you, your father, and any other siblings you may have.”

A pause.

“It’s for a business proposal,” Xaff adds from the side.

Link bites back an ugly bark of laughter.

Prince Sidon, unaware of this, doesn’t hesitate in offering an answer. “Please,” he says to Her Grace, “by all means, come in. Zanna can escort your entourage to some spare rooms in the palace…” His slit-pupiled gaze finds its way to Link for a second. “Or a healer.”

“That would be greatly appreciated,” Her Grace says, her eyes momentarily flitting to Link as well. “It’s been a very difficult journey.”

Prince Sidon gives a curious nod. “It must be an important business proposal then,” he concludes.

“It means the world to me,” Her Grace agrees, and even though her facade is cracked from exhaustion and shock, Link can still see her passion for her project slipping through.

“All the more reason to hurry to the palace,” Prince Sidon quips. “Follow my lead, Princess.”

“Gladly.”

So she follows his lead, and the vanguard follows her lead, and they all step into the Domain.

 

* * *

 

Talus, the Zora Domain’s healer, isn’t able to offer many remedies considering the only injuries Link has are a surplus of bruises, and some momentarily-weakened muscles. She skirts over his sore spots once before declaring her examination over.

“Take your visit here as an opportunity to sleep and bathe,” she says to him. “Frankly put, that’s all I can offer.”

And despite his aversion to taking anyone’s good advice, Link listens to her. Zanna stops by to lead him to a spare room, shows him how to use the amenities within said room, and then leaves. Link limps his way to the platform vaguely resembling a bed, crawls onto it, curls up in a ball, and dreams of nothing for half the day.

When he finally wakes, the world outside his window is a deep, dark blue, and there’s a note by his bedside. He holds it by a cluster of luminous rocks embedded in the wall, squinting to read it properly.

 

_Link,_

_King Dorephan and his children are hosting a feast tonight in order to assess a potential partnership between them and us in the upcoming months. I’d love to have your company… Prince Sidon and Princess Mipha seem very curious about you, too. But if not for the socializing, come at least for the food. The Zora’s seafood fry is supposedly phenomenal, and I’ve heard you’re quite the connoisseur of fine culinary--it seems like an opportunity too good to pass up! I hope to see you there._

_Best,_

_Zelda_

 

Link puts the note back where he found it, deciding to take a moment to think it over. Then he eyes the dip in the corner of his room full of cycled spring water. The pool looks cold, but the grime clinging to Link after several days without bathing seems to call for desperate measures. He’s bathed under worse conditions. He peels off his clothes, and hurries his way through a bath before drying off and tying his hair back from his face.

In regards to his wardrobe, he hadn’t brought much with him. Nothing in his rucksack could be deemed nice enough for royalty, so instead he wears what seems the cleanest--a well-worn traveler’s tunic, off-white pants, and boots. It’s comfortable. Practical. Without the bright blue tunic, he feels a little more like his old self. Enough so that he stands in that dark room for a few long seconds, drinking in the first wisp of calmness he’s managed to find since he started this trip.

Somewhere far off, music from a string quartet starts to swell.

Link sighs.

Something about the prospect of standing around in a palace, pretending to be more civilized than he actually is just bothers him. Regardless, he steps out of his room, and peers down the hall to satisfy his twinge of curiosity, following a trail of cleaned-up vanguard and Zora soldiers to its end.

He only catches a glimpse of crystal, silver, and a large, domed ceiling before he’s reeling back, opting to head in the opposite direction where there _doesn’t_ seem to be a room that costs more than twenty village’s worth of cattle plus the villagers’ souls. He’d stick out like a sore thumb, and the last thing he wants are strangers’ judgemental stares. He’d had enough of that in the tunnel leading up to the domain.

At the other end of the hall there’s a door, and past that door is cool, nighttime air. It’s miles better than being inside at the moment, so Link steps through and closes the door behind him. He’s been deposited a few hundred feet from the entryway of the Domain. The guards on duty have their eyes trained forward, expressions neutral, and Link opts to leave them to it. He slinks a little ways away, walking until he finds a small gazebo-like shelter stationed on one of the exitways. The railing seems sturdy enough. He climbs it in a streak of spontaneity and settles on its edge, letting his feet dangle over the water far, far below.

The only thing he can hear from here is the distant string quartet and the chirring of the insects that haven’t died yet.

Today has been hectic--the fact that he’s sitting around with nothing urgent to do is messing with his head the slightest bit, but he enjoys it while he can. There’s no knowing when he’ll get another chance like this. He kicks his feet around for a moment just to emphasize his point, letting his heels bounce off the wall he’s sitting on.

He never got to do this much at home, either. Between all the fighting and training and hunting, there’s never been any time to just breathe, and it only got worse as the years went on. It must be something etched deep into his bones; something that says he needs to constantly be in motion. Maybe his parents were the same way. It’s not like he’ll ever know.

There are footsteps behind him. His entire body tenses, and he twists to look.

The newcomer stops in his tracks. He’s twice Link’s height and royal-red.

“May I join you?” Prince Sidon asks somewhat self-consciously, apparently embarrassed at being caught in the act. Link feels his emotional state twist back into mild anxiety, but he nods anyways. There’s no telling what the consequences of denying royalty are.

Prince Sidon gives a hum of thanks, moving to lean against the railing Link’s sitting on. He looks a lot more subdued than the last time Link saw him. A lot must have happened in the hours he spent sleeping.

“Princess Zelda told me a lot about you,” Prince Sidon says. “I was looking forward to meeting you properly at the feast, but it seems like attending it wasn’t in your agenda for the night… Are you not a fan of parties?”

Link shifts to straddle the wall, freeing up a hand.

 _I’m--_ he starts. Stops. Realizes the Prince probably doesn’t understand sign language.

He points at his throat and shakes his head.

Prince Sidon blinks. “Ah, my apologies. The Princess mentioned that, but here I am, being a royal dolt.” He shuffles through the pocket on one of his decorum pieces, bringing out a wrinkled, written-on slip of paper and… a thin, cylindrical rock?

“Ink and feathers don’t mix well with water, and it’s a softer material,” the Prince explains without a prompt. “Just use it as if it were any other writing utensil.”

Part of Link is dying to point out that paper doesn’t mesh well with water either, but he doesn’t want to be pegged as a smartass. So he nods, watching as the Prince folds the paper to hide the previous writing, then hands it to Link. Link prays the Prince is literate in chicken scratch.

 _I’m saving the guests from my table manners,_ he writes. _Village boys don’t typically have a need to learn them, and I’m sure you all want to save your appetites._ He doesn’t mention how he’s at odds with the vanguard. He doesn’t mention how strong his aversion is to almost all things wealthy.

He shows the slip of paper to the Prince, who lets out a rather un-princely snort. “To be fair, royalty doesn’t have a real need to learn them either. It’s just a method of making meals last two hours longer than necessary.”

Link can’t help it; the corner of his mouth quirks upwards.

 _At least the food is good_ , he writes.

“At least the food is good,” Prince Sidon agrees. He turns his head the slightest bit towards Link, and Link feels a little too aware of himself.

“Did Talus treat you well?” the Prince asks. “The gauntlet’s been an issue since the beginning of the year, but I heard you took it out of commission. Those shock arrows must have caused some problems, though.”

He’s not wrong. Link’s limbs still feel like they’re made of lead.

 _There wasn’t much to be done,_ he answers. _Bruises and shock damage just call for rest, apparently._

His response seems too short, so he hurriedly adds, _I’ve been through worse_. The skin on his arms crawls in confirmation.

Prince Sidon slowly nods. “I’m sure of it, friend. Especially with your battle in the springtime--that sounded particularly dangerous.”

Link stares. He wonders if the Prince has some sort of supernatural ability when it comes to mind-reading.

Their conversation seems to be in a lull, and he gets a twinge of curiosity.

 _You’re not out here just because of me, are you?_ he asks. Prince Sidon gives an apologetic shake of his head.

“Not quite,” he says. “I was briefly checking in on our guards, and I was just lucky enough to stumble into you.” He pulls back from the railing, dusting off his decor despite it not having a spec of dirt on it.

“I should return to my family before they assume I was eaten by another Octorok,” he grins. He doesn’t explain the ‘another’ part.

Link’s surprised when he feels a pang of remorse. _Don’t let me hold you back_ , he writes anyways. He gets another one of the Prince’s long, deep-digging stares.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” he asks. “My sister would love to meet you as well.”

And the offer actually sounds _tempting_ to Link… But he can’t. Not tonight.

He writes his answer.

 _I haven’t had many opportunities to get some quiet since I left my home. I think I’ll catch up on my rest while I have the chance._ He flashes the slip of paper to Prince Sidon for a split second before rushing to tack on, _But thank you._

He holds out the paper and rock, and the Prince carefully tucks them back into his pocket.

“Rest well then,” he says with an amicable tone. “I’ll be on my way.”

Link watches him as he walks to the door Link had left from. Right as he moves to open it, he pauses. Turns back to face Link.

“We should talk more in the future!” he calls. “Goddess knows we all need friends in these trying times!”

Link flashes the only response he can think of at the time--a thumbs up--and the Prince hurries back inside, unaware that Link is watching all the way up until the door shuts behind him.

 _Those last words seemed… Promising,_ Link thinks to himself. Then he repositions himself, and opts to gaze the stars for a while.

 

* * *

 

 

By dawn, word has spread around the Domain: King Dorephan has agreed to an alliance with the Hylians.

“We can offer fifteen hundred troops,” the king tells Her Grace.

The figures who volunteer to stand the troops’ forefront? Princess Mipha and Prince Sidon.

Link watches from afar as they shake hands again with Her Grace; he’s choking up on a cocktail of pride and fear even though he smiles on the exterior.

 

Because this is whole plan is becoming startlingly real now that they have allies and the beginnings of a genuine, honest-to-Goddess army.

 

Her Grace is going to overthrow Calamity Ganon.

 

**Author's Note:**

> hey! hey! this chapter is _way_ longer than my usual spiels, but i hope it didn't feel too long-winded! i'm hoping on making this fic have longer, but fewer chapters--we'll see how that goes. i actually pulled a few tricks i typically don't when i write, so this is all kind of fresh territory for me!
> 
> anyways, i'm a little iffy on this because i'm pretty new to the BOTW (and LOZ) franchise, but i really love it, and thus this thing came into existence, lol. because my scheduling's weird (college RIP) my updates are going to be more sporadic, but i'm close to winter break, so that's good news! 
> 
> a few unorganized notes: 
> 
> -the title and summary might change! still looking for the just-right descriptors that match well with the fic, y'know?  
> -EDIT: i changed the title, ahah. it's a lyric from fleet foxes' ["blue spotted tail"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=teElNB0WuDI&feature=youtu.be)  
> -sorry for typos! this is unbeta'd, but i'm not looking for one due to aforementioned whack af schedule  
> -i know a few of the methods of addressal are... weird. but it's all apart of the plot, and dynamics _will_ shift, i promise  
>  -got questions? i got answers! they'll pop up in the chapters to come! don't be afraid to ask about stuff, but i might just tell ya the answers'll come later ;^o
> 
> finally, thanks for reading!


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